


couldn't raise a smile (not for a while)

by contagionangel



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, additional character tags pending etc, boys are terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contagionangel/pseuds/contagionangel
Summary: Oikawa's hit a slump in college and gets an unexpected, unwanted famous athlete couch-invader who refuses to explain himself. Iwaizumi seems to know something that makes him condone the situation, but whatever it is, he's not sharing. The sheer absurdity of it is creating some kind of existential crisis.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to float this concept out there re: this ship to see who's interested-- i've got a mental backlog of ideas for adding longer chapters to this over time if anyone'd like to see that. shoutout to that lovely jerk i'm dating who delights in oikawa's pettiness and contains all blame for the existence of this.

He's exhausted and off his game, when he answers the door, and he's honestly startled, so his brain can't find the smarm he gropes blindly for. All he can manage is a neutral "Tobio."

The first thing that strikes him is that Tobio doesn't look much better. The bags under his eyes are the most immense that Tooru's ever seen them, and that's saying something. Resigned, a little bitter, he waits for the question on tactics or technique or basic human interaction that despite all mockery and spite he's going to give in and answer as best as he can. It's been a while and he's getting too old for this.

Tobio ducks his head, averts his eyes. "Can I come in." he grinds out.

"Do you have to?" asks Tooru.

"Yes."

He's so, so tired. His bones feel like lead. "I don't think I feel like letting you in." he says petulantly.

"Iwaizumi-san said I could." Tobio replies, heavy-lidded.

Iwa-chan doesn't live there, doesn't even go to the same college. He also had not, and this he will receive an immense amount of pouting over, reveal that he'd been communicating with Tobio.

Tooru turns aside, watches Tobio out of the corner of his eye as he pulls his shoes off in the dorm room's entryway. It won't be worth the fight. Not this time. Probably.

It's not immaculate, but it's clean enough. There's nowhere to sit besides the couch, so he settles at one far end and pulls a throw pillow into his lap. There's a bulky duffel bag over Tobio's shoulder, oddly enough. It makes a soft noise as its set on the floor, as Tobio sinks into the other end of the couch, hands folded loosely in his lap. He stares at the coffee table. Tooru also stares at the coffee table.

The silence drags out too long, so Tooru tries to grasp for something characteristically provoking to say.

"Here to try and rudely pick my brain before your nationals streak gets broken, Tobio-chan?" he asks finally.

Tobio gives a small, neutral shake of his head. "Nationals ended weeks ago, Oikawa-san."

His tone is patient and maybe a little pitying. It manages to flare up Tooru's spirit a little. "To gloat, then? How crude." he says. He flutters his eyelashes.

The closed-off, unreadable quiet radiating off Tobio is unnerves him.

"We took second at the end of the fifth set." Tobio clarifies. "I know what I need to work on. It's frustrating, but I can only change things going forward."

Tooru's ire rides higher. "Oh? Then what would my cute kohai be doing here?" he asks, careful to make each word drip with as much saccharine patronization as he can muster.

Tobio turns to him and catches his eye. The expression on his face has locked into something Tooru last saw across the net, and like a pavlovian response, a strange energy itches up his spine.

The smile that follows is small, but nearly human-- not the hilarious grimace or the sickeningly wobbly, fragile thing that are the only two Tooru's seen on the younger setter in a long time. A little challenging, a little wry, not insincere but not reaching those electric eyes either.

"Want to guess?" he asks. The world wobbles and shifts a little under Tooru, because sometime when he hadn't been looking, the damned prodigy had changed enough to be the kind of person to answer with that. He feels as ill and sour as ever. He'd kill to have what Tobio has and he'd kill anyone but Iwa-chan who'd dare to say so. His muscles are rubber and his head is throbbing. It's not fair. It's not fair.

"I don't have time for games, Tobio-chan." he replies, pasting on his usual smarmy smile and carefully crinkling the corners of his eyes when he does. "I'm a busy man. While it's flattering that you've been drawn to my wonderful company, I'm afraid I don't have time for whatever you're here to be stupid about."

Tobio nods but doesn't move.

"I'm going to need you to leave now." Tooru adds. There's no response. Tobio's face has gone unreadable. "I have to go to practice. My team needs me, you know."

Exhausted and increasingly unnerved on top of the age-old rise of bile, Tooru finds himself at a loss. There's probably something he could normally say or do to make it stop, make the boy go away, make him stop looking still unfinished but undeniably more solid and steady than he had a year prior.

Instead he stands and grabs his practice bag. "Well, you'll have to infringe and just sit here a few hours with nothing to do, because you don't want to deal with me if you leave it unlocked and I get robbed by fans." he says. It feels lame in his mouth. Tobio nods again.

"Okay. Well. Later." he mumbles, staring. "Tobio-chan." he remembers to add as an afterthought, but it feels hollow and flat.

He's fleeing his own home from the top volleyball representative under 19 in the nation. No, no, it's a tactical retreat to regroup. He's not scared of a teenage boy for being too quiet. It doesn't bother him in ways that the invasion wouldn't bother anyone else.

"Iwa-chaaaan!" he wails quietly into his phone around the corner from the gym.

"Don't say my name like that. I'm going to smack you." Iwa replies, causing a rush of nostalgia in Tooru because his best friend's steadiness lives up to his name.

"What? You're mean." he pouts over the line out of habit. It's a little weaker than usual, but Iwa won't address it. Never had and never would.

"So I'm guessing that guy showed up." says Iwa.

The spring air is unusually cold even in the late afternoon, and Tooru can see his breath. "What's he doing here? He's even weirder than usual. I couldn't figure out how to throw him out of my room. It's pissing me off."

Unfortunately, no amount of persistent pestering manages to pry an answer out of Iwa, and the rest of the team isn't actually available. He also needs a break, horribly. It ends up being mind-numbing passive-aggressive hours of stretches and lazy tossing, enough to keep himself in motion without straining everything that's already overworked.

The pettiness backfires on him, because when he gets back Tobio is passed out fully-clothed on the couch and will not. Wake. Up. If he hadn't put on even more dense muscle in the past few years, to the point it wouldn't be practical to try moving him without risk of injury to one of them, Tooru would dump him outside the room.

In lieu of that, he puts on an extra sweater and throws an extra blanket on his bed, then turns the heater down. Some impulse he doesn't want to examine makes him leave a note about the milk in the fridge and the extra onigiri, though. Maybe if Tobio wakes up shivering and hungry, he'll eat and proceed to leave, and Tooru himself will wake up to a blissfully empty room. (His roommate is, as usual, out all night getting laid.)

Instead he wakes up to tantalizing smells from the tiny kitchenette. Tobio is wearing a different set of sweats from the day before with sleeves rolled up on corded forearms, and he's putting together simple, hearty fare that reminds Tooru all too keenly of the awful street vendor binges he's been on lately.

"It's against the rules for you to have slept here, Tobio-chan." he grumps. A cup of coffee is set in front of him made exactly how he likes it. It's probably poisoned. He drinks it anyway, because it's coffee. He's possibly entered a different universe since the day before, and he refuses to deal with Tobio's somehow freakier doppleganger without caffeine.

A terrible feeling strikes him once enough of the sweet, sweet nectar of waking has begun absorbing into his body. "So it's not happening again." he clarifies, but dammit, it comes out sounding more like he's asking.

Tobio shrugs.

He sits up abruptly and makes a completely dignified dash to the shared washroom to hide and text Iwa.

_he's making me breakfast iwa-chan what the ever loving hell is happening_

The reply is delayed. _Sounds like you'll be eating something that isn't crap for once._

_that isn't an explanation :( :( :(_

_You're not getting one from me right now. Go eat breakfast and get your ass to class on time. Also, once again, please never use emoticons while texting me. It's creepy._

Pursing his lips, Tooru sends a series of emoji forming a tale of woe and betrayal. There is, predictably, no response.

He peers out the half-bath door and watches Tobio wash the cooking dishes. There's rice stuck to his face, familiar in a way made dissonant by the sea of otherwise anomalous behavior. The sheer lack of information to work with, Iwa's involvement, and the avoidance of any explanation whatsoever is irritating and troubling him. He may have to wait for the information to piece some kind of understanding together on his own.

"Thanks for the food." he says by rote, grudgingly. If he'd been feeding himself correctly, the food wouldn't be delicious, but it is, and that's a problem.

Catching sight of his phone's clock and realizing that he has exactly enough time to get to class if he changes and leaves immediately, not bothering to go to the showers or do much more than comb his hair (a true crime against humanity), he reaches an unfortunate resignation to the distracting and unnecessary situation. Another problem: he trusts Iwa, but it just makes him wonder even more what is actually happening to his life.

Dammit.

(to be continued)

**Author's Note:**

> oh, and in case anyone was worried: no character bashing beyond in-character sullenness is planned. i know it's useful for conflict and all that, but honestly, it gives me heartburn.


End file.
